


The One Where Mark Gets His Way

by orphan_account



Category: letsplay, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Markiplier - Freeform, markiplier imagines, markiplier preferences, markiplier smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7795750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was frustrating for both of you, that much you understood. You realized that Mark wanted to protect you from what he believed would happen – or, really, what he knew would happen – but there had been so much speculation to begin with, so many loopholes in the secret, and you didn’t get why you couldn’t just come out with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Mark Gets His Way

It was frustrating for both of you, that much you understood. You realized that Mark wanted to protect you from what he believed would happen – or, really, what he _knew_ would happen – but there had been so much speculation to begin with, so many loopholes in the secret, and you didn’t get why you couldn’t just come out with it.

You figured it would be like ripping off a bandaid. Quick, kind of painful, but necessary and worth it in the end. Just post a picture with the two of you on every social media account you could think of, paired with a caption that would confirm that the two of you were in a relationship. And had been. For a year and a half. Oh, and you were living together, too.

When the two of you started dating, you thought it was sweet that Mark had been protective over you. He wanted to keep your relationship private, and you respected that. But the whole “secret” got really old, really fast. You couldn’t so much as make a noise when he was recording, for fear that someone would realize he was living with someone. You couldn’t be in the same room while he was vlogging – there was a close call when you had walked within the frame as he was filming. Luckily, he had caught your figure in the editing process and had nixed the clip, but that had been another argument. All you wanted was your damn water bottle that you had left in the living room – you almost felt like a prisoner in your own home.

You imagined that the speculation really began when he filmed another icebath challenge in the master bathroom. He had neglected to move your dry shampoo from the counter into a drawer, an oversight that caused the internet an aneurysm of biblical proportions.

It was ridiculous, really. You were sick of pretending that the two of you weren’t together when you went out in public, always walking a foot apart, slowly walking away when a fan stopped him for a picture. You hated suggesting going out to eat, never fully prepared for the awkward way he completely ignored your presence if a shy fan came up to the table once your meals were finished. You were growing tired of having to hide any trace of your existence if it fit inside the frame of his camera.

You could appreciate his side. You could appreciate how he wanted to be private. You could appreciate that he didn’t want you to be targeted for the life _he_ chose to live. But the secret had run its course, and you were used to life with Mark enough to feel like hiding your relationship was a bigger problem than exposing it.

In the process of trying to protect you, Mark had inadvertently made you wonder if you should take his privacy personally.

And so, when he asked that you not come into the bathroom as he vlogged, you decided to bring it up at dinner. You promised yourself you wouldn’t point your fingers, raise your voice, or cry, but five minutes into the conversation, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your promise. It wasn’t that he said no again – it’s just that he flat out _refused_ to see your side of the story.

You left the table without finishing your meal, stating that you needed to go for a drive before the situation escalated any further. That’s what you did when the going got tough – you left, scared of what you might say next. Mark understood this, not even raising his head to stop you from leaving, knowing that you would be back eventually.

The most infuriating thing about the whole thing was that he didn’t get angry about it. He never raised his voice, never changed the tone in which he spoke. He stayed level-headed, knowing that he would get his way when it came to this particular issue. It was his career, his community, his decision. He got to call the shots.

But – _damnit!_ – it was _your_ relationship; _your_ life. Mark couldn’t even take pictures with your family, fearful that someone somewhere would find it and post it for the world to see. He’d never even introduced you as his girlfriend, only his _friend_ (and one time his stepsister, which was humiliating on a completely different level).

You wanted to travel with him when he went to conventions, able to walk around and have everyone know that _yeah,_ you were lucky enough to date him, and _yeah_ , you were holding his hand. You wanted to introduce him to your friends without having to explain that they absolutely – under no circumstances – could not post a picture of them together on any social media, let alone acknowledge your relationship. You wanted to have a framed picture of the two of you on your desk at work. You wanted to send your family Christmas cards from the two of you.

You wanted to be fucking _normal_.

So, when you come home that night, you’re relieved that Mark is recording in his office, made apparent by his screams of terror. You went through the routine of getting ready for bed – the methodical process of washing your face, brushing your teeth, and moisturizing calming your nerves even further.

By the time you climb into bed and turn on the lamp at your bedside table, all of the anger you held within you had – for the most part – dissipated. Opening to the page you’ve bookmarked, you settle into bed, clutching the book you were in the middle of.

You were so focused on reading that you neglected to realize that Mark had entered the room, making his way to the bathroom to go through his own nightly routine. You continued to read, wanting him to be the first to speak after your argument.

Carefully lying down in front of you, Mark places his face behind your book, resting his head onto your lap. You finish the page you’re on before lifting to book, greeted only by his closed eyes, his lips slightly upturned into a soft smile.

“Hey,” he says, his voice deep and raspy from what you gather to be a mixture of recording and sleepiness.

“Hi,” you say, placing your open book on your chest.

“I see you’re not mad enough at me to not wear my t-shirt to bed,” he comments, opening his eyes.

“I’m not _mad_ at you,” you say. “I’m more or less frustrated. The drive helped, though.”

“I’m sorry,” says, moving to swipe a piece of hair off of your forehead.

“Me too.”

When he slowly pulls the book off of your chest, you nearly go to grab it from his hands, but something stops you. Maybe you should let him do what he wants to do, say what he wants to say. You know that he will end up getting his way again, regardless of what you say – _he’s_ the one who’s been here before, _he’s_ the one who’s lived through it. It would be pointless to argue about it any further. Mark would come around when he felt the time was right, not budging until he was ready.

“I hope you don’t think that I don’t want to show you off,” he mutters, positioning himself so that he’s raised above you, his legs on either side of yours. “Because that’s not it at all. You’re the most gorgeous being I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he kisses your cheek softly, making you smile.

“Thank you,” you laugh, shifting beneath him as he places chaste kisses all over your face. “You’re not too bad, yourself.”

“Shh,” Mark quiets you with his pointer finger on your lips, shaking his head. “I want to show you how much I love you, okay?”

“Okay, but I-“ the words are stopped by Marks lips on top of your own, a slow and languid kiss that makes you think of summer. He takes his time silencing you with his own mouth, kissing you in the way he knows you like best – varied pressure, his bottom lip gracefully overtaking your upper lip, tiny nips and bites speckled into the pattern you’ve come to love so much.

Pulling away from you too soon so that you followed his lips with an open mouth, Mark unwraps you from the blankets you had been under, settling between the bare skin of your legs. He smiles down at you as you sink back into the pillows, the muscles that make up his biceps twitching underneath his skin as he holds his body weight above you.

“God, you really are _so_ gorgeous,” he says into your neck, the softness of his facial hair tickling your neck in a way that creates goosebumps on your arms. He spends time on your neck, the slickness he’s created with his tongue becoming like silk against his lips, easy to navigate and explore. You let out soft moans, nearly inaudible whimpers that make your boyfriend smile into your collarbone, the neckline of his old t-shirt rubbing against his chin.

You lift his chin back up to your lips with the side of your pointer finger, wanting his mouth on top of yours again. Urging him to place his body weight on you, you slip further into the cocoon of blankets the two of you had created, a tuft of air escaping your lips in the form of a moan as he sets his hips on top of yours, cradled there with the heat of your cores melding together.

He does a phenomenal job of taking over all of your senses, stripping your ability to think of much else other than _him_. You could tell that something was different – something about how he was taking his time, how he was reacting to every noise you made, how he was gently building up the anticipation of what was to come. It worries you and excites you simultaneously, as he’d never apologized for getting his way in such a grand gesture before.

“Baby, baby,” Mark whispers, pulling away from your lips. The frown on your face makes him smile so that he nearly obliges your whining and reconnects, but instead, he sits back on his calves as he rubs your thighs. “I’m gonna to take care of you, all right?” he asks.

You bite your lip and furrow your brow, not exactly sure what he means.

“That sexy lip,” he growls, pulling your bottom lip from your top row of teeth with the pad of his thumb. He shakes his head as though he’s snapping himself out of something. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he focuses back on your thighs, massaging them with his strong hands, inching closer to the line of your panties. “My beautiful girl. Always so good to me, always so pretty. _Always_.”

You watch as he thumbs the hem of his own shirt, slowly inching it up your torso. When he bends down to kiss the skin that he’s revealing at a snail’s pace, you inhale sharply. Your hand instinctively reaches for the back of his head and you take a moment to rake your fingernails through the shorter hair.

“I love your tummy,” he kisses the words into your skin as he makes his way around your belly button. “So soft, so warm.”

He spans his fingers across the width of your torso, touching every inch of you, kissing in and around every curve, every crevasse, every imperfection. He loves them all, telling you how perfect he finds you to be – how perfect he _knows_ you to be. You sigh and close your eyes, focused on the feeling of his lips against your skin, on the words he’s saying.

When he lifts his shirt over your breasts, the sincere smile that flashes across his lips makes your heart race just a little bit faster. He gently cups both in his hand while the flat of his tongue juts out against your nipple. You whimper as he works it to a pebble, his other hand pinching its counterpart.

“So perfect,” he says as he nips at the tender skin of your breasts. “Fuck, I just want to eat you up, my girl. My perfect girl.”

You whine, arching against his mouth as he teases you once more with his tongue, the feeling of teeth grating against your skin sending jolts of pseudo-electricity down your nerve endings, each of them ending in your underwear.

“Mmm,” Mark groans around your pert nipple, “those noises you make just for me, baby. Do you know how much you turn me on? Can you _feel_ how much you turn me on?”

And if it weren’t for the hold he had on you, you would’ve bucked your hips into his hard dick, for you were unable to feel it fully between the layers of fabric and the heavy wall of heat between the two of you. He tells you to lift up so he can fully remove the t-shirt from your shoulders, throwing it to the floor as you settle back in beneath him.

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” Mark tells you, kissing up your leg that he’s rested against his shoulder. “Your hair, your lips, your tits – _shit_ – you’re so fucking beautiful,” he shakes his head, biting gently at the inside of your calf. “I could look at you a million times and never get sick of how beautiful you are.”

You smile, rubbing your hands over your upper arms, feeling exposed in front of this man who loved you so much, he wanted to protect you from anything and everything bad the world had to offer. Tutting at the gesture, he removes the shield you’ve created for yourself with your own arms, placing them at your sides so that he could fully see you once more.

“Don’t hide from me, my love,” he shakes his head, his fingertips dancing over the hemline of your underwear, a lacy, floral print that Mark adored on you. “I want to see every inch of this perfect body of yours.”

You giggle, and this time you move your hands to cover your face, stifling the embarrassment in your eyes with your painted nails. You know that he’s serious – he thinks that your body is perfect, even if _you_ don’t, which always makes you laugh uncomfortably whenever he talks about it too much.

Sliding your panties down over your ass and off of your legs, he tosses them on top of the discarded t-shirt. When he adjusts your legs so that your hips are centered with his, opening your thighs so that he can see the product of his labor thus far, he gasps at the glistening between your legs.

“ _Baby_ ,” he smiles, his voice deep in his throat. “Look at how ready you are for me. Already? _So_ fucking _ready_ ,” he grunts, taking his lower lip between his teeth.

He takes in a sharp breath, smiling widely as he opens the folds, nearly laughing with delight at the image. “So wet,” he mumbles, and you can tell he’s on a different planet – a planet where all he sees is you and what you’ve created for him, right here, right now in the bed that you share together. “ _Goddamnit_.”

You gasp sharply when he swipes his middle fingertip over your clit, swollen and nearly pulsing for his attention. “Oh, you needed this,” Mark smirks, rubbing his finger in a circle around the bundle of nerves, gentle enough to make you desperate for more, yet expertly enough to have you moaning beneath him. “Fuck,” he mumbles, shaking his head once more. “That’s it, baby. That’s my girl.”

Your hand jolts to his forearm as he increases the pace of his fingers, your nails digging into his tanned skin, leaving half-moon impressions. He bends to whisper in your ear, telling you how gorgeous you look while he rubs your clit, telling you how you’re the only thing he’s ever going to need, telling you how fucking _sexy_ that noise is.

“Even your clit is perfect,” he whispers to himself, staring at the methodical way he’s rubbing at your core, his fingers slick with your pleasure. You close your eyes and will yourself not to come so soon, but it’s a damn near monumental task, trying to reign all of this weighty pleasure in. Almost like you’ve been asked to lasso the moon or pick only one color to see for the rest of your life – you could do it, sure, but would you _want_ to?

“I want you to come for me, okay?” he says, and it’s less of a question – more of a strong suggestion, really. You can’t form the words to respond, and when he leans back from your ear so he can see your folds pulse around his finger while you come, he smiles maniacally at what he’s done to you.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, licking the slickness off of his fingers as you breathe sporadically beneath him, your eyes finding it difficult to focus on anything but the splotchy black dots clouding your vision.

“It gets so wet for me, your pussy,” he smiles, positioning himself further down the bed after stripping himself of all clothing, including the black boxer briefs that had now joined your own undergarments on the floor. Tossing your legs over his freckled shoulders in a far too casual way, he smiles contentedly when faced with your center. “M’gonna lick your pussy clean, ‘kay?” he asks, and before you can respond, his lips have found their new home around your clit, sucking as his tongue juts out.

You scream – it’s not like you can help it – and slap your hand onto the headboard, your other gripping at the pillow beneath your head. You bring your head up so that you can see him lick against your folds, his ring and middle finger slipping into you so easily, it makes him shiver between your legs. You call out his name, gritting your teeth as he clicks his tongue against your clit while his fingers find the pillowy spot just beneath your pelvic bone.

“Mmm,” he moans. “There it is.” He grins up at you, his hair falling in his eyes as he motions his fingers up and down rather than in and out against your g-spot, your orgasm building faster and faster by the second.

“Baby,” you groan followed by a guttural sound that spits out of your mouth before you can stop it. “ _Mark. Stop._ Stop!” you scream, your fingertips grasping onto the nightstand next to you. “I’m co-“ you tilt your head to the side, screaming into your pillow, frightened by how _good_ everything feels.

Mark gasps, and the wetness around your thighs makes you scream even louder, because for a second, you think he’s broken you. You think that some switch within your innards has been flipped and it has caused you to literally _explode_.

“Holy _fucking_ shit!” Mark yells, his forearms glistening in the light of your reading lamp. “Good girl. My good girl. My gorgeous, perfect, amazing girl,” he looks down at you with wild eyes, and it’s not until you see the smile plastered across his face that you realize he didn’t break you. No, he didn’t break you. He just made you…well, _squirt_.

“I di-I didn’t – I didn’t know I could do that,” you gasp, your breathing erratic.

“You’te so fucking – _AGH_!” he shouts, grabbing your hips and shaking you. “I love you, y’know that? You’re so fucking amazing,” he laughs, bending down to kiss you roughly on the mouth. “Can I fuck the shit out of you now?” he asks frantically, positioning himself above you. You manage enough energy to nod, smiling up at him through hooded, tired eyes.

“I’m in love with everything about you,” he says into your ear as he pushes into you, the absolute last shred of your own sanity leaving through your right ear and out the window. “Fuck, baby. _Fuck_. You’re so tight for me. Your fucking pussy – _fuck_ – it’s so fucking good. So fucking _good_.”

He continues to whimper above you, grunting and growling and groaning in succession to you, letting you know that the sound of your wetness against his cock makes it hard for him to breathe. He creates a rhythm, mentioning how warm your pussy is around him, how the head of his dick twitches every time you moan for him.

“Good job, baby,” he says, coaching you into your next moan, your next wave of pleasure that courses through your veins so suddenly that you cry out into the speckles on his shoulder. “There ya go, there’s my girl. Love how your pussy squeezes my cock like that, _just like that_.”

The bedframe shakes three more times before Mark warns you that he’s going to come, and with a light touch of your fingers to his cheek, you encourage him with a nod. He furrows his brow and smashes his lips down to yours once more, moaning into your mouth as he grinds down through his orgasm.

“ _Shit_ ,” he laughs, collapsing all of his weight on top of you. You scratch his back, feeling the curves and bulges of his muscles beneath your fingertips. “I love you,” he begins, lifting his head so he can look you in the eyes. “I love you, and I don’t want to do anything that’ll hurt you. I’m sorry for being a dick, but I just really don’t think that it’s the ri-“

“I know,” you nod, cutting him off. “I get it. You know best. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? Not until you’re ready. Then we can come up with a game plan. But I want you to be ready if we’re going to do it, so I’ll be patient just a little bit longer.”

“You’re such a pushover,” he winks, resting his weight on his elbows. “Once again, Markimoo gets his way.”

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, pushing his face away. “I’m the one who had three orgasms, though. So who’s the real winner here?”


End file.
